


A Truly Strange Affair

by opera_ghost



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Choking, Erik is creepy, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opera_ghost/pseuds/opera_ghost
Summary: An impulsive late night visit to the young Vicomte de Chagney's chambers and its repercussions.





	1. An Unexpected Visit

The de Chagny estate was rather large, to say the least. It sat atop a sprawling expanse of land, that could easily fit ten regularly sized homes. It was cared for by the staff, and from the looks of the area, they did their job well. They also cared for the interior of the estate, which was impeccably clean; not an ounce of dirt or dust in sight. There were at least twenty rooms, each lavishly furnished. From a quick search one could gather that there were eight bedrooms, all possessing large four-poster beds. The property itself had a winding floorplan, and many rooms reserved for entertaining. There was a large library in the east end of the estate, as well as a ballroom and several more lounging rooms. However, the west end was where Erik’s business lied.

That is where Erik found himself on this chilling winter night. The west end of the de Chagny estate contained many of the bedrooms, save for one or two guest rooms in the west. The bedroom that Erik sought had a convenient terrace, perfect for lurking men such as himself. The ignorant boy that the bedroom belonged to made it terribly easy to enter through the balcony. Erik almost laughed to himself at how simple the lock was, but kept quiet for fear of waking the boy.

He stepped into the room, careful not to make a noise. Scanning the room, he deduced that there were no immediate threats, and that the boy was deep in slumber. His room was just as Erik imagined that it would look, with luxurious and no doubt expensive furniture, and a large four poster bed with translucent drapes. In the bed, the Vicomte lay sprawled above the blankets, limbs spread out, and a slight snore escaping his mouth.

Erik creeped towards the bed, eventually stopping at the edge of it, staring down at the boy. Through the thin drapes he could make out the image of the Vicomte, his head lolled back on a pillow, hair messy, and mouth open. Erik took a strange satisfaction in knowing that the boy looked like this in sleep. Yet somehow he still managed to appear graceful and handsome, which peeved Erik to no end.

His original intentions for visiting the chambers of the Vicomte were still unclear. He had acted purely out of impulse, and he was still unsure why he felt that he needed to see him. Perhaps it was easier to observe the boy this way. He often found that he compared himself to the Vicomte, sometimes more consciously than he would like to admit.

It seemed that the boy had been exhausted when he fell asleep, for it appeared he was still in his day-clothes. Yes, it had been a very busy day for him. Erik knew of the Vicomte’s plans to ensnare him, and he had no doubt been quite occupied with that plan today.

Erik examined him, looking closely at his form. It was true that he was handsome, that much Erik could recognize. While Erik was had a skeletal and dead look about him, the Vicomte radiated life- in his smile, his grace, and his eyes. Yes, Erik could see how Christine had fallen for him.

Christine would have to see reason soon. She had to see that Erik was a far better man, and would be a far better husband than the Vicomte. Erik hadn’t told his angel of his plans, not yet. The time was not favorable, for the boy had just proposed to her as well.

The thought of the engagement made Erik’s blood boil. Neither of them knew that Erik was aware of the arrangement, it was supposedly meant to be a secret. He had not confronted Christine about it, not yet at least, and he did not plan to do so soon. He had only found out about it today, in fact. Oh yes, there was anger and screaming, but luckily it was within the confines of his home, where no one could hear. His anger had subsided since, and had evolved into a cold, bitter feeling.  
How was it possible that his angel was capable of such cold-heartedness? Erik had already made sure that his disapproval of her relationship with the Vicomte was known. She had to have known that this would hurt him, but it didn’t seem that she cared.

Erik stared at the Vicomte with his fist clenched tightly at his side, his body stiff. Had it not been for the boy, Christine would be his, and only his. He glared at the boy’s perfect features- features he would never possess. These were the features that Christine loved. If Erik possessed them, would Christine love him? How could she, for he would still be ugly inside, his past assured him of that. Oh, how he longed to ruin the face of the sleeping boy.

At this point, a growl must have escaped Erik’s lips, for the boy stirred in his sleep. Erik quickly moved to the edge of the room, shrouding himself in shadow. The Vicomte’s blue eyes fluttered open, and he sat up in bed, scanning the room. He settled his gaze in the corner where Erik was hiding.  
  
“Angel?” The boy called, fixing his stare on Erik’s figure. “Is that you?” He seemed to still be dazed from being awakened from his sleep, otherwise he would have been seized with panic. Erik stayed silent, not knowing what course of action to take. “Angel,” the Vicomte called once more, louder this time, “I know that it is you who watches me.”

Erik couldn’t help but let a deep chuckle escape from his lips. The thought of the boy being so aggressive towards him was hard not to find amusing. He watched as the boy started at the sound of his laughter. “Do not mock me, angel,” he said, voice trembling, “I know why you have come to me tonight.”

Erik laughed once more at the ignorance of the Vicomte. For how could he know what brought Erik here tonight, when Erik did not even know himself?

“Is that so?” Erik smiled wickedly, jumping at the chance to play mind games with the Vicomte. “Do tell me why I’ve come.”

The boy shook with fear, which is just the reaction Erik had hoped for. He took a deep breath, “You have come here to kill me.” he declared. Erik’s deep chuckle filled the room.

“You ignorant boy. I have not come here to kill you.” That was not his initial reason for this visit, but the thought did sound oh so tempting.

The Vicomte relaxed a bit at this, but was still visibly on edge. “Then…” He started, looking over at Erik with confusion and lingering fear, “why have you come?”

Erik thought for a bit, then ultimately decided on his answer. “You must be careful asking such intrusive questions, monsieur. It does not do well for a Vicomte to be impolite.”

“Intrusive?” The boy’s voice was filled with anger now, to Erik’s surprise. “You are the one who is in my chambers! And you think me intrusive?” Erik could argue with the reasoning of that, but instead turned to leave, deciding that he had let this conversation go on for far too long. However, it seemed that the Vicomte had other plans. As Erik made for the exit, the boy grabbed the pistol that had been resting on his bedside table and aimed it shakily at Erik.

Erik turned, watching the boy closely. “Monsieur le Vicomte, put the weapon down before you hurt yourself.” The Vicomte’s hand was shaking badly, and Erik knew that there was little to no chance that if the boy fired the gun that it would hit him. However, the sound would surely awake the others in the house, which would lead to more problems than Erik had time for.

The boy kept the pistol aimed at Erik’s chest, refusing to put it down. Erik growled at his stubbornness, becoming more and more annoyed with it. Perhaps it would be easier to just kill him. If he moved quickly, he could fit his hands around the boy’s neck within a second, and within fifteen more, he would be out cold.

“I’ll shoot you.” The boy threatened, interrupting Erik’s thoughts. It had seemed that he had gotten his trembling under control, and he aimed more clearly.

“You won’t.” Erik faced the Vicomte, who was now standing in front of the bed. Erik took a step forward, daring the boy to pull the trigger.

“Not a step closer!” He tightened his grip on the pistol, and kept his eyes on Erik’s chest. Erik took another step, ignoring the boy’s empty warning. He highly doubted that he was brave enough to actually fire the gun. He waited to take the next step, watching the boy cautiously.

The Vicomte growled and pulled the trigger, firing the gun in Erik’s direction. Erik cursed but dodged with ease. A woman, who had apparently awoken from her sleep, shrieked loudly as Erik cursed him. “Foolish boy!” Erik lunged towards him, grabbing him by the throat. The boy clawed at Erik’s fingers while he applied pressure. He watched as the light faded from the Vicomte’s eyes, and they shut as his body went limp. Erik, of course, knew that this would only incapacitate him temporarily.

In a moment of impulse, Erik grabbed the Vicomte and carried him in his arms like a small child. He fled the estate, before the boy’s family could arrive to investigate the gunshot. Erik did not stop to think of the consequences this whole situation surely had in store, but instead kept running towards the opera house, where he would descend into his underground home with the young Vicomte in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -to be continued-  
> Let me know what you think!


	2. A Strange Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vicomte de Chagny awakes in a strange and unfamiliar place.

It takes a formidable amount of time to awake after being choked into unconsciousness, Raoul learned. He wasn’t entirely sure what time it was when he did awake, but he could tell that a long while had passed between when he was taken and now.

He was sure he had been taken. He couldn’t quite remember what had happened, but he was absolutely certain that he had not been here before. The area he was currently in seemed like a sitting room of sorts, with large and luxurious furniture. Perhaps the most peculiar thing about the room was the complete lack of windows. The only light source was from a dozen or so candles placed throughout the room.

Raoul’s eyes were drawn to the large grand piano in the center of the room. He could not reach it, for his hands were bound and he was feeling far too weak, but nevertheless it didn’t stop him from gravitating towards it. It was a beautiful instrument, he could tell as much. Christine had taught him a few chords, and he could occasionally sight-read if he felt up to the task. He was definitely no musician, though, not like-

The angel. The events of the night before came rushing back in a tidal wave of memories, disorienting Raoul and making his vision swim. He was in the lair of the opera ghost. Reality came crashing down on him as he struggled against his bonds, trying to slip his wrists out of the constricting loops of rope. It was no use, however, for the Phantom had secured the rope rather tightly.

Raoul tried to stand, but immediately regretted the attempt, for as soon as he was able to get to his knees his vision darkened at the edges and he felt that he had a terrible headache. A mere choking could not have done this, perhaps the Phantom had hit Raoul’s head against a rock for good measure. He went back to a sitting position, panting pathetically at the effort it had taken to just do a simple action.

He wondered silently what everyone in the upper-world was doing. Was his family scouring the city in search of him? Was the opera company panicking over the disappearance of their precious patron? Was Christine… Oh, Christine. Raoul missed her beyond what words could describe. He felt a pang of sadness when he imagined what Christine’s face would look like when someone told her that the Vicomte was missing.

He had to try to muster his strength, for Christine. He must try to escape. However, he couldn’t do it in his current condition. He felt light-headed, and there was a soreness around his throat, where he assumed some nasty bruises would be. In addition to that, he was also quite exhausted, despite just awaking from a forced slumber.

Raoul found himself growing increasingly tired. His eyes became heavy, and soon his shoulders slumped and his head fell back against the cold wall.

**\----**

When he next awoke, he could feel a pair of eyes upon him. How unsettling that feeling was, and fresh out of slumber too. Raoul forced himself to open his eyes, and searched the room for the pair he was sure would be watching him.

He spotted the tall figure sitting in a chair a little ways away, facing him. The masked man had surely noticed that Raoul was awake, but he continued to stare for an uncomfortable amount of time, and all Raoul could do was stare back.

Raoul had never actually seen the Phantom in person, he’d only heard Christine’s description of him. He was indeed as ghostly and skeletal as she had described. The full white mask that he was wearing supposedly hid a horrible deformity, so horrible that he had to live in the seclusion of the sewers underneath the opera house. His lips were warped towards the left side of his face, so that it looked as if the right side of his mouth had been stung by an angry bee.

“Satisfied with your examination, Monsieur le Vicomte?” The man before him asked, bitter and sarcastic. He had finally broken the strange silence, now looking Raoul straight in the eyes. Oh, how chilling it was.

“I could ask you the same, Monsieur le Fantôme.” Raoul replied, with the same level of passive-aggressiveness. He had, after all, also caught the Phantom staring.

“No matter.” The opera ghost dismissed, apparently bored with their game already. “I have brought you something to eat, should you accept it.” He gestured towards a small plate, which held a slice of bread and what appeared to be some fruit, sitting atop the coffee table.

“You expect me to eat something that you offer?” Raoul asked, angry but cautious. “How will I know that you have not poisoned it?”

“The truth is, you will not.” The Phantom told him with unwavering logic. That was not the reply that Raoul had hoped to hear. However, he was admittedly quite hungry, for he had not eaten a meal since being taken.

“Fine.” He relented. He would need food to regain enough strength to escape. “I accept your offer of food.” The man chuckled- this seemed to be a theme with him- and rose from his seat to retrieve the plate. He brought the food over to where Raoul was and stood before him, waiting.

After a considerable amount of silence, Raoul rose to the Phantom’s bait. “Do you intend to remove my restraints?” He looked up at the man before him, feeling very small in comparison. He did not enjoy this feeling.

“No, monsieur, I cannot risk you escaping.” There was a hint of a smirk on the Phantom’s lips.

“Then how do you expect me to eat?” Raoul was growing tired of being polite towards the man, but he did his best to keep the pretense of civility. The Phantom really did smile this time, a truly wicked thing on his distorted lips. He did not speak but took the slice of bread in his slender fingers and put it before Raoul’s mouth.

Raoul hesitated, but upon seeing the man’s mocking expression, he took a bite of the bread. It did not taste like it had been poisoned, though Raoul had luckily never tasted poison before, so he could not be sure. The small bite did not satisfy his hunger, so he took another, ignoring the man who held out the food to him.

All too soon it seemed, the bread was gone. Raoul was still quite starved, but he did not wish to be hand fed anymore. He stayed quiet, and eventually the Phantom took the plate and dumped its contents into a bin in the corner.

Raoul leaned harder into the wall, this small feat taking much more energy than it should have. He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the masked man any more than he had to. Eventually, he felt prodded to ask questions.

“Why have you brought me here?” Raoul opened his eyes as he asked the question, and was surprised to see that the Phantom was sitting in a different chair, seeming to be engrossed in a book. He looked up at the sound of Raoul’s voice and considered it.

“I couldn’t have you making a commotion out of our late night encounter.” The masked man belittled Raoul’s question, which annoyed Raoul very much. Why couldn’t the man just answer a question truthfully? Raoul huffed in frustration, shifting in his uncomfortable bonds. His head still ached, but the pain had subsided into a dull pounding. His throat was sore as well, and he could tell that his breathing was slightly labored.

From across the room, Raoul could feel the unsettling feeling of the Phantom’s eyes on him once more. “Am I interrupting you?” Raoul asked the man sharply, aiming a glare just to the left of him. He found it very hard to stare into those piercing eyes.

The man in the chair took a deep breath, looking exceedingly disinterested. “Yes, dear Vicomte, you are very distracting. It is a wonder that I haven’t silenced you yet.” The masked man let his words hang in the air, allowing Raoul to take his time in imagining all the gruesome ways he could be ‘silenced.’

“I am deeply sorry, monsieur. Perhaps I would not be so distracting if you removed these restraints.” Raoul spoke bitterly, moving his glare to the pale white mask. He ignored the penetrating gaze that the Phantom was giving him, and instead focused on the mask, studying the sharp and unrelenting arches.

He pondered silently what the man before him looked like underneath his guise, and not just that of the mask. It was obvious that he carried himself with a certain dark and brooding composure, relying heavily on his intimidating eyes and melodic yet commanding voice to distract people from what was truly inside. If only Raoul could see underneath all that, he might be able to gaze upon the real man behind the mask.

The Phantom rose from his seat abruptly, making his way toward Raoul. Within what seemed like only seconds, the masked man was nearly on top of him. He kneeled before Raoul, making direct eye contact with him despite his apparent squirming. They stared at one another for what seemed like hours, before the masked man inhaled ever so softly, lifting his hand to trace Raoul’s jawline with his thumb.

“Your very presence is distracting, my dear Vicomte.” He continued to move his thumb slowly along Raoul’s jaw, while Raoul remained stiff, his quickened breathing the only indication that he was responding at all to the Phantom’s approach.  “I do not think your restraints have anything to do with it.

“I’m not used to having people in my home, you must understand,” he persisted, ignoring Raoul’s constant shifting, “The only people that I have ever allowed to be present here are Christine and an old friend from Persia. All others that have ventured here have met an untimely demise, as you-”

Raoul jerked in the Phantom’s grip, driving his knee into the man’s gut. He staggered backwards, as Raoul attempted to crawl with arms and legs bound towards the piano. He didn’t make it very far, however, before the Phantom’s slender fingers were around his throat once more.

“That wasn’t a very polite thing for a Vicomte to do.” The man taunted, applying a slight amount of pressure to Raoul’s throat. Raoul struggled still, attempting to free himself of the bonds. He was not ready to give in, and certainly not to this man. The Phantom growled, tightening his grip around Raoul’s throat.

“There is nothing stopping me from ending your life right at this moment, dear Vicomte.”

Raoul struggled to draw breath, but managed to piece together a somewhat coherent sentence. “Such… empty threats… are hard to believe… when they are coming… from a man… who hides behind… a mask-”

The Phantom’s eyes flashed with anger as he applied an unbearable amount of pressure. Raoul’s vision darkened and he sputtered, trying to get any air at all into his lungs. He began to lose feeling in the far reaches of his body, and he could almost feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. He was drowning, surrounded by pressure and force. It was impossible to breathe, and the walls of the room were closing in. The world around him darkened, and he wondered if the Phantom’s unyielding masked face would be the last he would ever see.

And almost as suddenly as it had started, it ceased. Raoul could breathe almost normally once more... The pressure around his throat was gone. He graciously gulped in the musty air of the underground, feeling light headed but alive. His vision returned soon enough, and he could see that the Phantom was still before him, only a few steps back from his initial position.

The man’s fingers were splayed across the white mask, and he was breathing heavily. Raoul examined him, trying to glean any emotion from him at all, but it was very difficult. Regrettably, Raoul had never been good at reading people’s emotions, not like Christine. He marveled at how easily she could tell when he was upset or happy, and admired her skill.

The Phantom’s fingers were now gripping the mask tightly, and his mouth was slightly agape.

He looked directly into Raoul’s eyes with a penetrating gaze, and slipped the white mask off from his face.


	3. An Unusual Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another unexpected visit, this time from the Vicomte's brother.

 

“The Comte de Chagny wishes to speak with you, Mademoiselle.” Called the voice that followed the knock on her dressing room door. She finished pinning her hair up, and rose from the softly cushioned seat before the vanity. She wondered why Phillipe would visit her, especially at this hour. He never came to her room; he typically bolted after La Sorelli following the performance. She moved to the center of the room, stealing a fleeting glance at the large mirror on the far wall.

“Come in.” Christine declared, taking a deep breath as she smoothed the frills on her dress. The door swung open slowly, and Philippe stepped uneasily past the threshold of the room, closing the door quickly behind him. He seemed deeply troubled, his eyes darting around as if he were looking for something.

“Hello, Monsieur le Comte,” She greeted him, trying out a warm smile. “Are you alright?” She added, upon noticing his lack of response. It took a moment for him to focus on her, and another, it seemed, for him to process that she was speaking to him.

“Lovely performance tonight, Miss Daaé.” He began, still not completely meeting her eyes. “You received a quite astounding standing ovation. I only wish-” his voice faltered, and he looked away from her entirely.

“...You only wish what?” Christine asked after a moment of silence, trying to coax the rest of his sentence out of him. He looked even more tense than before, but now he was trying to conceal it. He walked to the settee, taking deep breaths in an attempt to regain his composure.

“Will you join me?” He asked her, motioning towards the seat opposite him. She followed his gesture and sat down, sinking into the deep cushion. He followed her lead, taking a seat across from her. They sat in uncomfortable silence for quite a while, the only sound in the room being Philippe’s deep breaths and Christine’s occasional shift in position. Finally, he broke the silence.

“When was the last time you saw Raoul?” He asked, at last meeting her eyes. This caught Christine off guard, for it was not something that she had expected him to ask. Still, she pulled at the reaches of her memory, remembering her last encounter with the Vicomte.

“Perhaps three nights ago?” She pretended to be unsure, however in reality she knew exactly when she had last seen Raoul, and what had happened. It had been that night on the rooftop. She could still feel the crisp night breeze on her face, and could still remember the feel of Raoul’s lips upon hers. They had made a promise that night, vowing to remain together for the rest of eternity. She could feel the thread that she had looped through his ring around her neck, and the warm metal pressed against her chest.

“Are you positive, mademoiselle?” Philippe asked, pulling Christine back to the present. She pushed the thoughts of the rooftop away, focusing on the man before her.

“Yes, I am sure.” She replied, ignoring the fact that this was untrue. She would deal with the guilt of lying later.

“Forgive me for asking, but why are you inquiring about this?” Christine finally questioned, after Philippe had looked lost in thought for some time. He looked up at her with a slight wetness in his eyes, still trying to hide his emotions.

“Last night, Raoul…” His voice broke once more, and he looked away from Christine. It took him a moment to find himself, but he eventually continued with a deep breath and his voice low. “Last night, we heard a gunshot in Raoul’s bedroom. When I entered the room… he was gone.”

Christine put her hand over her chest, feeling her heart beat against the ring. “What does this mean?” She asked, staring at Philippe in disbelief.

“Christine.” He whispered, looking straight into her soul, “Raoul is missing… The police believe that he was taken.”

His words rang in her ears. _Gone_ . She clutched her stomach, suddenly feeling very ill. _Missing_ . Philippe asked her something, but she couldn’t comprehend it. _Taken_ . Tears slipped from her eyes. She couldn’t help it. Raoul. Her Raoul. _Gone. Missing. Taken._ She doubled over, letting the tears flow freely, almost oblivious to everything around her. She was vaguely aware of someone’s hand on her shoulder.

_Gone_ . There had been a gunshot. Had Raoul fired it? Had Raoul been fired at? She shuddered, the mere thought giving her nausea. _Missing_ . No one knew where he was. The police suspected that he was… _Taken_ . By who? The word repeated itself in her mind over and over until that was all that was running through her head. _Taken, taken, taken_.

Christine looked up, hand still pressed to her abdomen. She looked at Philippe, who had switched from appearing broken to concerned. She shifted her gaze towards the large mirror on the back wall, the one that she knew led to the tunnels beneath the opera house. To his domain. A wave of conflicted emotions washed over her, as she remembered the masked man behind the mirror.

_Taken._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -to be continued-  
> Sorry that there's not much going on in this chapter! I'll try to get the next one up as soon as possible. Let me know what you think!


End file.
